


Infinite Times and Infinite Places

by bleepbloopbee



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Angst, Blood and Injury, Doctor Who AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, Slow Burn, elements of canon added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28492452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleepbloopbee/pseuds/bleepbloopbee
Summary: There's something bizarre in the alley behind Simon Snow's flat. Bizarre in the form of a mysterious blue police box with an equally (if not moreso) mysterious (and fit as hell) man inside.One step inside throws him out of the monotony of his life and into the seemingly magical world of space and time, lightyears away from Earth. It's a bloody rollercoaster of an adventure-- involving far too many near death experiences.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	1. Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The monotony of life, broken up by wheezing in the night. Does this count as kidnapping?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok it's been years since I've watched DW (think 2015-era tumblr) so I'm playing very fast and loose with DW canon. _very fast and loose._ but chapters will remain in the range of 2k so I can roll them out faster :)
> 
> Anyway, I hope ya'll enjoy!! I have some additional warnings in the end note, related to some of the character's behaviors and attitudes
> 
> enjoy, friends <3

### \-----Simon-----

The weather’s brutal tonight. It’s snowing, but the second it hits the ground it turns to disgusting brown slush. It squishes under the treads of Simon’s boots, threatening to seep into the worn fabric. His feet are absolutely freezing, but he can’t afford new winter boots.

As he walks, he keeps his head down and shoulders drawn up. He’s exhausted, trudging through the awful weather to make it back to his equally awful apartment. It’s all awful, but it is not like he has any other options.

The weather persists through the night and to the morning. Simon stands on the platform for the Underground station near his flat. Things are a rush, as usual. People are bustling all around him, but he stands there, debating on whether or not it’s worth it to step onto the train. 

He has this battle every morning. 

Is it worth it to go to work, when he feels nothing but dread? Yes, the job makes ends meet. But what purpose is it to make ends meet when there’s nothing else? He watches a train arrive. It’s not his, but he watches as people move in both directions. Some on, some off. His’ll be next, so that gives him about five minutes to battle internally.

 _This is insanity,_ he thinks. _Repeating the same bloody argument over and over and expecting different results._

The doors to the train slide closed, and it takes off seconds later. Hurtling down the tunnel, taking people to work, school, or wherever their heart takes them. 

Simon wishes he had something pulling at him. But there’s nothing. No tethers to this world.

Don’t get him wrong-- he’s by no means suicidal. He’s not going to try anything or off himself. He just wants to cease existing. Like a bubble being popped. One second it’s there, the next it has disappeared without a trace. Maybe he will be reformed at a time where things are not so bleak. Or better yet, take a nap one afternoon and wake up in a different time, when things are easier...

But life doesn’t work that way.

The next train pulls up to the platform, and he walks forward. He’s swimming upstream, but manages to make it on before the doors slide shut.

The days pass this way. He works five days a week, each day the same. He rolls out of bed, shoving breakfast into his mouth as he pulls on his work uniform. Then he battles the fowl winter weather as he makes his way to the Underground station. Stands on the platform, battling internally over his worth and existence. Continues the cycle on the train, for about fifteen minutes. Then he steps off at the correct platform and makes his way up the stairs and down a handful of blocks to his job. Leaves at the correct time, hours later, missing the sun (if it’s even out that day) and heading home. 

Wash, rinse, repeat. 

On his days off, he lounges around his closet of a flat, watching something useless on Netflix or plays video games on a Playstation that has seen far better days. Sundays are for chores, like running to the corner market for groceries; hauling his trash down four flights of stairs to throw it in the dumpster out back; and doing laundry in the ancient washer in the basement of the building.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

He stumbles down the stairs, trying to not tumble down the stairs as he carries a trash bag. With no grace, he kicks open the back door. It screeches as it opens, and lets in the cold. Simon shivers, carefully stepping down the slick stairs. 

The dumpster’s only a few meters away from the door, fortunately. The lid’s already open-- even better. He wastes no time heaving the bag over the lip and pushing it into the dumpster. It lands with a heavy thud. Something shatters inside, probably his neighbor’s massive quantity of liquor bottles. He never talks to his neighbor, but he can respect their coping mechanisms. He probably would’ve turned to liquor if it didn’t give him such raging headaches the following day. 

He turns, ready to go back inside, when his eyes scan across something strange.

He pauses, taking in the weird blue… _box?_ in the alley in front of him.

It’s a… police box?

He hasn’t seen any of those around London, ever. At some point in time, they existed, he knows that, but they were dismantled decades ago. Besides that, what is it doing in a dingy alley in a dingy neighborhood? 

Simon takes a few steps towards it. Is this some kind of mysterious art installation piece? He gives it another once over. It’s impeccably well kept. No chipping paint, no smears from the slush, no speckles of de-icing salts. It looks like nothing Simon’s ever seen before. 

Somewhere off in the distance, there’s a loud crash, and the wail of police sirens. It snaps Simon back to reality. He’s freezing, not dressed enough to be standing out here for longer than ten seconds. His fingers are aching and nose is running. Snow is still falling and the dirty concrete is slick beneath his feet, the melting snow threatening to solidify into ice. 

He gives the mysterious police box one last look, then he goes back inside. 

The sound of wheezing wakes him up in the middle of the night.

It fills the apartment-- some kind of bizarre, almost mechanical wheezing. It comes and goes in waves, like a breathing pattern.

Blearily, Simon sits up in bed. His window’s cracked open. Even though it’s frigid outside, he often finds himself waking up in the morning covered in sweat. He keeps the window cracked, just in case.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. 

The wheezing persists. 

He trudges over to the window, peering outside. It’s coming from somewhere outside.

A light is filling the alley below, coming from… 

That police box.

Simon startles, suddenly awake. Without thinking it through, he shoves his feet into his worn boots and arms through his too-thin coat. He hustles down the four flights of stairs, and bursts out the back door. 

The door to the police box is open. The light sitting on top is on, fading in and out and matching the wheezing perfectly. Simon steps up to the box, and peers in through the door.

It is so much bigger on the inside than on the outside.

The door opens up to a cavernous room. Simon is at a loss for words. He’s got nothing as he stares at the large machine that sits at the center of the room. It’s like a column, surrounded by a circular table full of gadgets and buttons and switches and levers. It sits on a metal sheeting platform, with wires running all across the floor that lies metres below. They connect to the screens that dot the walls of the room, but none of them are turned on.

Simon doesn’t know whether he should step inside or run for the hills. 

Then, someone clears their throat behind him.

Simon screams, jumping out of his skin as he whirls around. 

“Are you stepping in or out?” The man behind him asks. 

“What--” Simon stutters out, mouth gaping open in shock. 

The man raises an eyebrow. He’s got thin but sharp features. A strong bone structure and devastatingly handsome. His raven black hair falls in loose waves, framing his pale skin. His eyes are grey like thunderstorms, ready to swallow Simon whole. 

“Crowley,” the man mutters, and plants a hand on Simon’s shoulder. He pushes Simon back into the room, and closes the door behind them.

“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” the man continues, stepping past Simon and into the room. Simon snaps his mouth shut, so hard his teeth clatter together. 

“What is this?” He asks, watching as the man walks up to the machine. He’s assessing something, looking over the machine with a careful eye. Simon has no clue what the machine does and what the man’s looking for. 

“The TARDIS,” the man replies simply, as if it was just common knowledge.

“I don’t…” Simon trails off. 

The man glances over at Simon, eyebrow raised once more. He’s got this holier-than-thou attitude. It sickens Simon, even if the man is fit.

“Time and relative dimension in space,” the man replies, as if explaining the concept to a child. Simon bristles at the tone.

“I don’t know what that means,” Simon says. “Quit talking to me like I’m a child.”

The man laughs a little, to himself in some callous way. “It is a concept too complicated for human imagination. I can explain it in every possible way, every language in existence, but you will never fully understand.”

Simon fingers curl into fists. “Why bring me in here if you’re going to be such a prick?”

“It’s fun.” The man smirks. “I have not been to Earth in awhile. I thought I would stop by.”

Simon doesn’t have a response to that. Not right away, at least.

The man doesn’t bother filling the silence. He turns, striding further into the room and throwing open a door. From where Simon is standing, he sees into a hallway. The man opens the first door on the right, and starts sorting through whatever’s inside. 

“What are you?” Simon asks after a minute. 

This man can’t be human. He certainly looks like it-- but ‘ _haven’t been to Earth in awhile?’_ That makes no sense. Nothing about this makes sense. 

Simon is convinced that he is dreaming-- he finally gave up the ghost and this is all some elaborate dream of an afterlife. If that were true, he doesn’t know what killed him but maybe that’s some part of the afterlife. The memories of final moments disappearing as if they were dandelions blown apart by the wind.

The mysterious man doesn’t respond right away. He’s buried in that other room, doing god knows what. He appears shortly after though, a heavy wool cloak thrown over his arm. He’s dressed in different clothes as well. Simon didn’t pay attention to his previous outfit, but now he’s in well tailored black trousers and a white button up with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“The Doctor,” the man says finally. 

“That some kind of stage name?” Simon scoffs.

“No. It is my name.” The man shoots Simon a withering look. “What is yours then?”

“Simon… Snow.” 

The man snorts. “Snow? Equally ridiculous.”

“Hey!” Simon shouts, pointing a finger at… _The Doctor._ “You-- You pushed me in here! You’re kidnapping me!”

“Kidnapping?” The Doctor teases, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“We’re still in London, England,” he pauses to check the watch on his wrist, “January 14th, 2021 AD, at 4:39 am.” 

Simon, for what feels like the hundredth time, is at a loss for words. The Doctor gives him a once over, then smirks. He lays his cloak across the railing that lines the platform, and turns towards the machine.

“Hold onto something. I’ll show you kidnapping.”

Simon’s eyebrows furrow. The man reaches forward, pulling a lever on the machine’s interface. The wheezing starts up once more, and the whole room lurches. 

Simon yelps, and scrambles for the nearest object. He holds onto the railing, just as the room lurches again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings: Simon has some undiagnosed/untreated/undiscussed depression issues. Nothing super intense, I promise. It's a projection of my personal experiences and emotions, so keep in mind that it is not a blanket statement for how one deals with depression. I strongly recommend getting support or treatment and not self-medicating. (Simon doesn't self-medicate, but there is mentions of the desire throughout the fic.)
> 
> That being said, I hope ya'll enjoyed the first chapter, it only gets better from here <3<3
> 
> I don't have a tumblr anymore, but feel free to contact me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/Bailey8GM)


	2. Earth; Mars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trips before and after Simon's existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said chapters in the range of 2k? I guess that's not necessarily true... oh well. This chapter was a fun one to write though! Things are starting to get weird and interesting from this chapter on, enjoy!! :)

### \-----Baz-----

Baz doesn’t exactly know why he pushed the man into his ship. He’s much more composed than this. But sometimes, watching surprise and confusion light up a human's face cuts through his composure. 

This man, _Simon Snow_ , is different than the rest of his passengers. He stands out, as one to take his scathing words and throw them right back at him. Humans usually let the tone roll off their backs like water, too confused by the whole situation to really be listening to him. 

Snow is different.

Not just that too. It’s his appearance. He’s got a shock of bronze curls on his head, and skin dotted with moles that mirror deep space constellations. His worn clothing leaves much to be desired, but Baz knows enough about human traditions to understand that he woke Snow up from sleeping.

So Baz pulls a lever and hits a few buttons, and the TARDIS shakes and wheezes.

He’s accustomed to it, no longer needing to hold onto anything. Watching Snow scramble is fun. 

The shaking stops a minute later. Baz gathers up his cloak, throwing it over his shoulders. 

“Come on,” he says, walking up to Snow and to the door. He glances over his shoulder, and pushes the door open. He watches as Snow’s eyes light up and the space between his eyebrows crinkle. 

“What the…” he murmurs, stepping forward to stand next to Baz. 

The two look outside. 

They’re standing in a vibrant, green field, dotted with wild flowers. The sun is high in the sky, and the air is warm. A gentle breeze blows through, rustling the waves of emerald grass. 

Snow steps forward, out of the TARDIS. “Where are we?”

“Northern Ireland, July 23rd, 1979 AD, 12:31pm,” he replies, checking the watch around his wrist just to be sure. It’s a beautiful gold thing, always changing to match the current time.

Snow turns to face him. “Is this real?”

“Yes,” Baz leans against the door jamb. The first adventure is always fun. He takes them to a normal place, nothing too showy or bright. That would just be too terrifying, even if it makes Baz laugh.

“I’m not even alive yet,” Snow says. “How is this possible?”

“Time and relative dimension in space,” Baz repeats. “Or, the TARDIS. She can go to any place in the universe, at any time.”

“Isn’t this some kind of… paradox thing?” Snow asks. “I’m not alive yet-- I won’t be until ‘93--”

“Time is not linear,” Baz cuts him off. “It is a mess, like a ball of yarn. The string is all rolled around, crossing over each other and looping around and around. Nothing in the universe is linear.”

Snow slowly nods, but Baz can tell that his words haven’t sunk in yet. Snow slowly turns around, taking in the environment.

“Human lifespans are woefully short, and you are still a young species,” Baz continues. “Someday, they will understand, but you are still so isolated.”

Baz steps out of the doorway, coming to stand next to Snow. 

“There’s other people out there?” Snow asks, not looking at him.

“An infinite amount.” Baz replies.

Snow lets out a heavy breath. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

Baz is vaguely familiar with the name. One of humanity’s religions, but he never bothered unraveling the whole story. Once the Roman empire collapsed, he was largely uninterested in Earth’s culture. He had appreciated the Romans and their arts and sciences. They were magnificent for such a young species. If he recalls correctly, though, it might have been this Jesus Christ who was their undoing… but that doesn’t matter much.

“Do you visit them?” Snow asks after a few minutes of silence. 

“Some. Not all,” Baz replies, clasping his hands behind his back. “Some are uninteresting. Some are not intelligent. Some are dangerous. Besides, there is not enough time in the world to see them all.”

Snow glances at him from the corner of his eye. 

The breeze is pulling at Snow’s curls. They are gravity defying, lighter than air and catching the sun like they are true bronze. Baz looks away, turning his eyes towards the horizon. They are nowhere special, just a field in Ireland. There’s peace nonetheless. He forgets to do this. He forgets to stand still.

“What do you do?” Snow asks. 

“Whatever pleases me,” Baz answers, vaguely. In truth, answering that question is complicated. He does everything and nothing. His best work is when no one knows he did it.

“Alone?”

Baz glances back at Snow. Snow’s looking right at him, the corners of his mouth drawn down. Baz looks back at the horizon. That is enough of an answer.

“You and me both,” Snow says softly. 

A bird is singing in the trees, capturing the attention of a mate. The mate replies, the two songs mixing in harmony. It’s pleasant. The breeze grows strong for a moment, pulling at the corners of his cloak and running its fingers through his hair.

“Do you want to go home?” Baz asks eventually.

Snow sighs. “No.”

Baz raises an eyebrow, fully turning towards Snow. Snow faces him now. Their eyes meet-- soft, normal blue against stormy, dark grey.

“If… If I come with... what will happen?” Snow hesitates. 

The fire that was in him in the TARDIS has dissipated entirely. Baz almost misses it. That’s what has always been so interesting about humanity. The true diversity and nuance. He doesn’t come across it as frequently as one would think.

“Nothing. You can always return on the exact night you left. Like nothing ever happened,” Baz explains.

“Would you let me?” Snow asks. It’s a bit of an idiotic question. The answer should really be obvious.

“You need to change first,” Baz says. He turns, and steps back into the TARDIS. 

Snow snickers, following him in.

Baz takes Snow to his closet. It’s a massive room, wall-to-wall clothing racks, from every style and era imaginable, from every region of the universe. Snow doesn’t know where to start. Baz leans up against the door jamb once more, watching as Snow walks through the racks, running his fingers over various fabrics. 

“What should I wear?” He calls out.

“Whatever speaks to you,” Baz replies. “These are to blend into various cultures.”

Even though Baz can’t see him, Snow nods. He’s wondering amongst a rack full of alien clothing. None of it is fabric, and nowhere near comfortable. It’s made for bodies that Baz nor Snow possess. Truth be told, he doesn’t know why he has them. 

After a few minutes, Snow emerges from the racks in new clothes. 

Baz raises an eyebrow.

“Out of all the clothes in here,” he drawls. 

Snow scowls at him. He’s picked out a rather plain outfit. Loose light blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and a plain red hoodie thrown on top. The shoes are nothing special-- just army green canvas shoes.

“This is what I normally wear,” Snow defends.

“I hope you gain some taste.”

Snow’s scowl deepens as he crosses his arms over his chest. Baz doesn’t say anything else before he turns away and steps back into the hall. Snow steps out too, and the door slides neatly shut behind him. He startles, half-turning to look at it. 

“Is this a spaceship?” He asks. 

“Something like that,” Baz replies. 

Humans are dreamers-- they’ve concocted up _science fiction,_ which is so much closer to reality than they think. Snow nods. He’s getting better at taking in things. Or maybe his brain is just a sponge that’s all full of water. There’s only so much that can be taken in.

Baz doesn’t follow that train of thought. He heads back into the main room. Snow trails after him like a lost puppy. As Snow looks around the room, Baz busies himself by double checking the engine and controls. There hasn’t been a malfunction in some time, but after the disaster that was the last one, he doesn’t take chances. Each trip, he checks over every inch of the control panel and all wires.

Snow stands back, leaning against the railing. “Where are we going next?”

Baz glances up at him. Snow is looking right back at him, head tilted just slightly to the side. 

“Somewhere familiar. I have to check on something,” he replies. 

Snow nods, and settles in. By settling in, he sits on the floor with his legs crossed. Baz bites back a snort, and turns to the controls. 

### \-----Simon-----

Simon watches the Doctor circle the controls. He’s moving switches and typing on keyboards. None of it makes sense, but maybe Simon will pick something up by watching. 

That’s not really true though.

He’s not really watching the controls. He’s watching the Doctor. He was enraptured by the police box, then the field… He finally has a chance to look the Doctor over. The man is an absolute mystery. Nothing about him makes sense. And of _course_ , he has to be fit as hell. 

The man, which Simon isn’t sure he _is,_ has this holier-than-thou air. Head held high, shoulders a stern straight line. He looks Egyptian, distinctly. The curves of his face and the warmth to his skin remind Simon of the depictions of ancient pharaohs he saw on the yearly school trip to the British Museum. The Doctor looks the exact same. Fit as hell and completely aware of it. He holds himself like he is a direct descent of those ancient deities. 

It’s… overwhelming, to say the least.

All of this is so bloody overwhelming. 

How is any of this real?

A few minutes pass in silence, then the wheezing starts up.

“Is that a good sound?” He asks, voice raised in order to be heard. 

“She’s good,” the Doctor says immediately. “Good as the day I built her.”

Simon’s eyebrows furrow. This was… built by him? That simultaneously makes no sense and absolute sense. Simon is still not entirely convinced that this isn’t a dream. If it is, this is one hell of a lucid dream. 

He tilts his head back, resting it against one of the railing poles. Each time the Doctor changes a control, something in the center column lights up. It’s a gentle blue glow, perfectly in tune with the wheezing. It feels like the TARDIS is breathing, taking deep breaths as she works her beautiful, mysterious work.

The room shakes, and Simon instinctually grips the railing he’s leaning against. The Doctor steps back, leaning against the railing as well as he lets the engine do its business. 

Now that he’s prepared, the shaking is less startling. It’s like going over a bumpy road with the tyre rolling over a pothole. Just a harmless rattle then the drive continues as normal. It lasts a minute, maybe two, then the noise and shaking settles. The Doctor steps back up to the machine, checks something, then turns to Simon.

“Do we need to change?” Simon asks.

“No need,” the Doctor shakes his head. “We are good to go.”

Simon scrambles up, following after him as they head towards the door. 

It opens to a night sky. They step out and close the door. 

“Mars,” the Doctor whispers. “Day 197, 3496 AD.” 

Simon’s eyes widen. This is not how he expected Mars to look. All he’s known is endless red deserts, with talk of scientists one day colonizing the land. This looks like… a normal city. Well, mostly. The buildings reach towards the sky, like long fingers made of shiny metals and glass. Far above, stars dot the sky. There is not a cloud in sight, giving them an unobstructed view.

"Why are we here?" Simon asks. He keeps his voice soft to match the Doctor's. 

"You ask too many questions," the Doctor replies sharply. "Crowley, I forgot how curious humans are. Just observe."

Simon huffs. This man is frustrating and weird and confusing. He makes no sense and is closed off. If he didn't want Simon to come, why didn't he take them back to London? 

The Doctor starts walking off in a direction. Simon has to walk fast to keep up with the other man's stride. There isn't even that much of a height difference. Only a handful of centimeters, but the Doctor’s legs are significantly longer. 

They head off down the street. It's dark and quiet. Nobody is out, and Simon doesn't know if that's a good or a bad thing. He's curious about the people who live here on Mars. Did they come from colonization? Other alien races moving in?

The Doctor leads them down an alleyway. Despite the futuristic city, the alley way looks like the kind Simon is used to. Dingy, dark, and dotted with trash and debris. 

They step out of the light cast from the street lights. A second later, the Doctor’s arm shoots out, effectively clothes-lining Simon. He's about to snark out something, but the Doctor has a finger over his own mouth. 

_Silence_. 

Begrudgingly, Simon obeys. The Doctor's arm lowers, and points ahead. 

Cast in moonlight, someone cries in pain. 

Simon's heart throbs. He wants to help, but he remembers to ' _just observe_ '. It makes him feel like he's at a zoo-- observing the creature's little bubble of life, barred from interfering. The person bows over, clutching their stomach and crying.

Simon realizes that he is about to see someone give birth. 

There isn’t a lot of light, but the figure looks human… They’re breathing heavily and crying, biting the sleeve of their shirt to muffle the noises.

Simon glances at the Doctor out of the corner of his eye. The Doctor is watching intently, hands clasped behind his back. Simon looks back, just as the figure leans back against the wall. There’s a few more laboured breaths, then a wet sound that makes Simon’s stomach twist up. He knows about the ‘miracle of childbirth’ and all that… but...

Soft cries echo down the alley. 

“Ssh…” the figure murmurs, comforting the newborn. They keep murmuring, but Simon can’t make out any of the words-- some foreign language. It’s comforting though; something melodic in the words, like a lullaby. Simon lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. The lullaby continues, lilting unknown words echoing around the alley. The newborn slowly stops crying, seemingly enraptured by the song. Simon’s enraptured too.

The melody is ethereal, unknown. 

This is a beauty Simon has never seen before, and for a few seconds he’s jealous that the Doctor gets to relive moments like this, over and over again in infinite times and infinite places. 

The song fades away eventually. It leaves the air too quiet. Simon glances back at the Doctor. His eyes are still locked on the scene, unwavering. Then, he looks up. The two meet eyes, and the Doctor nods.

Without a word, they both turn and head back the way they came.

“Why did you take me there?” Simon asks after a handful of minutes. They’re not going directly back to the TARDIS. Instead, they are wandering through city blocks, enjoying the peace the night brings.

“I had to make sure she survived.” The Doctor replies.

“The baby?” Simon infers. The Doctor nods, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Is she important?”

“Yes, she will change everything here.”

Simon glances around. In the silence of night, he can’t see the city’s imperfections. It’s just a towering, glittering mass. It’s beautiful… but there is no wind. No lights. No clouds. No birds. No trees.

The bubble they were in popped. There is no peace, no tranquility-- only growing uneasiness. The lullaby is no longer beautiful. It is mourning, not hope.

They make their way back to the TARDIS. 

“If you could go anywhere, couldn’t you fix everything?” Simon asks.

They’re back in the control room. He’s sitting once more, leaning up against the railing as the Doctor stares at the central column. The air hangs heavy on their shoulders. It feels a tad too suffocating.

“Even if I could, it would be wrong to interfere,” the Doctor replies softly. “The universe is a complex being, not meant to be controlled. It would be wrong to fix everything. One should only act as a guide.”

Simon’s eyebrows furrow. There’s something sad in the Doctor’s words. He can’t place it. He doesn’t know anything about the man. Silence falls between them. Simon looks away from the Doctor, choosing to track the wires and cables that criss-cross over the floor below the platform. 

“Do you need to sleep?” The Doctor asks eventually.

Simon’s head shoots up. “Huh?”

“Are you tired? You can rest and we can go again later.” The Doctor is looking right at him. 

“Um… okay,” Simon slowly nods. He stands up, and lets the Doctor guide him through the control room and to the only other door in the room-- the one they took to get to the closet. They step into the hall, and Simon takes the time to look around. The hall stretches on and on and on. The Doctor says nothing, leading him to the door opposite of the closet. 

“If there is anything you need, just think of it,” the Doctor says before opening the door. “When you wake, think of the library before opening a door. You will find me there.”

Simon’s lips part, confused.

“Er… goodnight…” he trails off.

The Doctor looks down the length of the hall. “Baz.”

“What?”

“It’s Baz,” the Doctor meets his eyes. 

“Goodnight, Baz,” Simon says. 

Baz is the first to break the contact. He steps away, opening the closest door and disappearing through it. Simon is left standing in the hall, feeling like he’s floating six feet above his body as he tries to rationalize what the hell is happening to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed :)  
> If something either in this chapter or future ones doesn't make sense, let me know!! I can explain, as well as go back and edit for clarification. My mind is a muddled mess and I absolutely want things to all make sense. (Unless the confusion is intentional to the story... but I'll let you know if that is the case, haha)  
> I still don't have a tumblr, so you can contact me on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/Bailey8GM) Have a good day, friends <3<3


	3. Space; Yagantua

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quest not well thought out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!! I'm trying to update every 5-7 days, but I just moved back into a college dorm, so I've been busy packing, moving, and unpacking the past few days. Thanks for being patient, and let's roll on into it because this chapter was a lot of fun to write!

### \-----Baz-----

Baz chalks up his behavior to loneliness. 

He hasn’t had a passenger in a long time. Too long, he realizes now, as he stands in the library. The shelves are stocked with every book imaginable. It’s infinite, sprawling like a maze but you could never get lost. Wander for hours, but if you need to leave, just turn the corner and the door appears. 

It’s the beauty and magic of his ship. 

His eyes skim the shelves, not reading any of the titles on the binding.

He doesn’t know why he told Snow to call him Baz. He doesn’t know why he’s taking on this tone. He doesn’t know why he’s doing any of this. Not travelling-- no-- but why he took Snow to Mars. 

He could’ve checked up any time, ensuring that the newborn girl would survive her birth. That her mother wouldn’t collapse before she could make it to the world. Why did he take Snow?

Why there?

Logically, he could say that it was teaching Snow patience or something observational… but that answer feels empty. Untrue.

Frustratingly, that answer doesn’t work. He wants one that works, wants pure, true knowledge, but he knows that with matters like the whims of his psyche, he will likely never know. 

He has never taken that truth well. 

The door to the library opens sometime later. 

Baz has settled in by one of the overplush chairs, skimming through a tome discussing a centuries long war on a long lost planet. The door swings open, and Snow steps through. He’s wearing the same thing as yesterday. Baz glances up at him, then goes back to reading. 

Snow lingers in the doorway, unsure of what to do or say.

“Sleep well?” Baz asks, breaking the silence first. He slides a bookmark in, then closes the book and sets it off to the side. 

“Yeah,” Snow shrugs. “It’s uh… it’s quiet in here.”

Baz stands up from the plush armchair. It’s a shame to leave-- he could honestly spend hours or _days_ sitting there, lost in the histories and dates. He devours books, then travels to those eras to confirm the tome’s validity. So many suffer false information given by the winners, but Baz is addicted to the feeling of testing that knowledge. He’s tempted to bring Snow to the one he was just reading.

“What are we doing today?” Snow asks, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Up to you,” Baz replies. He picks up his cloak, which he had laid across the back of the chair some hours earlier. Snow flounders in the doorway. He makes a noise that sounds like a dying animal. Baz snorts, and turns to face him. Snow’s face has turned a lively pink due to being laughed at. 

“Well, how do you figure out where you’re going?” Snow snaps, crossing his arms. Baz raises an eyebrow, and makes a show about scanning the library. 

“What? You pick books and go there?” Snow snorts hotly. Baz feels something warm curl around his chest. There’s that fire from before. 

“More or less,” he replies simply. “I was reading about a war. Fancy a trip?” 

Snow stares at him for a few long seconds. He’s the one to break first, rolling his eyes and nodding. 

“Good.”

Baz wastes no time going back to the control room.

Soon, they’re stepping out onto muddy, broken stone. 

“Yagantua,” Baz says as they scan the area. In the distance, there’s a commotion. 

“We’re not in the warzone, are we?” Snow asks. 

They’ve had to change for this one, but not by much. Baz already had the cloak, he just had to dig one out that would fit Snow. Height wise, they are not that far apart. But Snow is much stockier-- all broad shoulders and chest.

“No, just outside,” Baz shakes his head. “That city is being captured today.”

The noise echoes up the mountains. They’re standing on the side of a mountain, on a rugged path that’s seen far better days. The city below them is a smoking wreck. Buildings are half-collapsed and they see figures run through the broken streets. From here, they look like ants, running through the tunnels of their colony. Except they are killing each other.

It’s brutal to watch, even from a distance. 

“Why are they even fighting?” Snow asks.

“It is a long story,” Baz says. “They have been fighting for centuries…. Mutually assured destruction. One of them took the bait, and now their world is close to crumbling.”

Snow frowns. War has always saddened him. 

Below, there’s another boom. Dark, nearly black smoke curls up towards the sky. It dissipates in the wind, carried through the grey skies until it no longer exists.

“Is it even worth it?”

“Hm?” Baz hums, looking at his passenger. 

“Is the fighting ever worth it?” Snow’s eyes are still down on the city. 

“Sometimes.” 

His answer doesn’t please Snow. His frown deepens. 

“I don’t think it ever is.”

Baz gives Snow a cursory once-over. He’s almost… _jealous_ of Snow’s naivety. To be that young and unaware again. But alas, it is impossible. The only thing he can’t turn back the clock on is himself. But he doesn’t really want to, anyway.

“Why did we come? How does this entertain you?” Snow asks another question. This time, it’s more scathing. 

Baz lips press into a flat line. 

“It doesn’t,” he snaps. “Do _not_ assume anything about me.”

Snow’s startled out of his reverie. He jolts, turning towards Baz. His lips part, showing bared teeth. 

“There is much you do not know,” Baz warns. “Humans fill in the gaps, making crass assumptions to make themselves feel better. It hides reality.”

He turns back towards the city. Smaller fires have started, licking at the bases of the remaining buildings. 

“You didn’t have to bring me along,” Snow grumbles, childishly. 

Baz doesn’t have a response to that. 

### \-----Simon-----

Baz doesn’t respond, and it does nothing but deepen Simon’s frustration. Baz tore into him yesterday ( _well-- if time is relative what denotes as ‘yesterday’?_ ), and then he is snapping to ‘not assume’. 

_Fucking wanker_ , Simon curses internally.

He could always go back to London… but galactic adventures like this is the fodder for the graphic novels and books he read as a child. This is what his eight year old self dreamed of… and it’s not like there’s anything waiting for him in London. 

That balances out putting up with the absolute arsehole that Baz is. ( _Barely_ balances it out.)

They stand there in silence for some time. They watch as the city crumbles, then as the army leaves in monstrous machines. Simon wants to say that they are cars, or tanks… but they’re something else entirely. Masses of metal, warped and twisted like scraps have been thrown together and forced to work as one. 

When the dust in the city settles, Baz begins to walk down the broken stone road. 

“Woah-- I thought we were just watching--” Simon calls, stumbling over the lip of a stone as he tries to catch up. 

“Watching the battle,” Baz explains over his shoulder.

“What if they’re still there?” Simon frets. He manages to catch up, but has to keep looking down so he doesn’t trip again. 

“Then we’ll be quiet,” Baz replies simply. 

Simon shuts his mouth, and they trek down the hill. He doesn’t like it, but follows anyway.

The city smells like fire and death. 

It’s nauseating. Simon holds in a gag as they reach the outskirts. They pass by somebody’s half-burnt remains, and he bites his tongue. Baz walks ahead, unaffected. 

They come upon the city center soon. It is not a large city, making it easy to raze to the ground. 

“This is gross,” Simon mutters. There’s a drying stain on the road in front of them. It’s not red, not human, but Simon still knows that it’s blood. Nothing in the universe would lose that much blood and survive. 

Simon is just happy that they don’t find that being’s corpse.

It takes time, picking their way through collapsed walls and destroyed roads. Debris fills the roads. Clothing and trinkets and various remnants of everyday life. Bundles of food smashed; books burned to crisps. Simon is just trailing after Baz, who is searching their path intently. 

“What are we looking for?” Simon asks eventually. 

“Anything of importance,” Baz answers. It’s vague as usual.

Simon rolls his eyes, but tries to keep that in mind. But when everything’s destroyed, there’s nothing of importance. Ahead is a building that is still intact, and Baz makes his way over there quickly. Simon stumbles once more, catching his foot on what appears to be a tyre. By the time he gets into the building, he’s lost Baz.

This is… some kind of… records hall?

Shelves fill the building, but none carry books. Not in the traditional sense. The shelves _are_ filled, but Simon doesn’t know what it is. Baz understands though-- he has picked up one mass of tarnished metal, and is resting it against his leg. 

“What does it--” Simon starts.

“ _Ssh!_ ” Baz snaps. 

A huff is rising in Simon’s throat, but all breath leaves him when the mass of metal flickers, and fills with light. 

Then, a hologram comes out. 

It’s a group of figures. Hulking creatures, skin tinted orange and faces gnarled. There seems to be five of them, and they are talking. Once again, Simon doesn’t understand the language. The sounds are more grunt-like than anything, with different inflections that come deep in the throat. Baz appears to understand though. He is watching the hologram intently. To give him some peace, Simon wanders away. 

What were just lumps of metal are now machines. They’re in a variety of shapes-- some are more cube-like, spherical, pyramids… Simon walks amongst the shelves, seeing the labels under each one. The letters on the little metal plaques are looping, complicated symbols. He has zero clue what the language is, but the characters are nice. 

The sound from the hologram cuts off. From a few shelves over, Baz scoffs, and picks up a new one. The process repeats for a few minutes, Baz watching holograms while Simon explores the building. The building is partially collapsed; the roof is caving in and some of the interior walls have been knocked down. Miraculously, the shelves are unharmed. The most damage they have is a layer of dust from the walls and ceiling collapsing. 

Simon wanders through the room in one giant loop, eventually coming back to Baz. 

Baz is sitting on the floor now, legs sprawled as he watches the holograms. 

The one he’s watching cuts out abruptly and he curses under his breath.

“What are they talking about?” Simon asks. 

Baz startles, looking at Simon over his shoulder. For a second, Simon thinks that Baz forgot he was with him. 

“Politics and war strategies,” Baz replies. “It was foolish of them to keep these things out in the open.”

Simon nods, and comes over to stand next to Baz. 

“That’s stupid,” Simon snorts. 

Baz doesn’t say anything as he turns back towards the machine. 

“If they’re new, then the other side knows all their plans,” Simon continues. Baz nods, gathering his legs underneath him so he can stand up. 

“They don’t talk about time, so I do not know how old they are.”

“There’s labels around on the shelves. Do they say anything about the dates?” 

“No, just who is in the meetings.”

Simon presses his lips into a flat line. Ultimately, the labels mean nothing. _Lovely_.

He sighs, and turns away. There is nothing of interest to him here, since he doesn’t understand the language. He wanders away again, leaving Baz to the holograms. He steps back outside, through a hole in the wall. This isn’t the side they came in on, so there’s a bit more to look at. Yes, it all looks relatively the same, since the city’s burnt out and collapsing, but it’s better than nothing. 

On this side of the building, there’s a large courtyard. The ground is white stone, but the tiles are cracked and uneven. Simon tries to imagine it before its collapse, and hopes that it was beautiful. Or maybe not-- thinking of beautiful things being crushed like bugs under someone’s shoe makes his chest tighten.

A clash echoes through the courtyard.

Simon jumps, hackles raised as he scans the area. 

Voices filter in through the buildings, speaking the same grunting language as the holograms. 

Simon’s eyes widen, and he turns and runs back to Baz. He almost wants to burst back into the record hall with an _‘I Told You So’_ but this doesn’t seem like the time. Maybe he’ll rub it in after they get to the TARDIS...

Baz is right where he was left-- sitting on the dusty floor and watching more holograms. 

“We gotta get out of here,” Simon stage-whispers, going for a practical approach. He slows to a stop.

Baz half turns, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

“They’re still here--” Simon pants, bending over to rest his palms against his thighs as he catches his breath. “The people-- there’s still some here--”

Baz abandons the machine, shooting up. 

“ _What?”_ He hisses. 

Simon points in the direction he just came from. “They’re in the courtyard--”

“Crowley,” Baz murmurs. Unlike Simon, he doesn’t seem scared. 

Simon’s heart is thumping against his ribs. He absolutely does _not_ want to die, especially at the hands of some angry alien race on a distant planet. 

“Come on,” Baz whispers. 

They walk back towards the direction they came from. Their pace is slower this time; they keep their footfalls quiet and keep themselves hidden behind shelves and fallen debris.

The voices are getting louder-- filtering through the building. The creatures must be inside now. Guttural noises fill the room, echoing around like some horror video game Simon had played years ago. 

Carefully, they step out through a hole in the exterior wall. Simon glances over his shoulder, and catches a glimpse of mottled orange skin.

As if on cue, a yell rings out. 

_Shit shit shit shit shit_ , Simon curses. 

He grabs onto Baz’s wrist, and breaks out into a sprint. 

### \-----Baz-----

The two sprint between two buildings. Thundering footsteps a few paces behind them match theirs.

Baz sees an opening in front of them-- a hole in the wall of a building that is barely large enough for them to fit through. He plants a hand on Snow’s shoulder and throws them through it. Snow yelps, nearly toppling over as he’s forcibly pulled through the hole. 

“What the--” 

“ _Ssh!_ ” Baz hisses.

Snow, fortunately, gets the cue and they duck under a collapsed column. The voices and footfalls pass them by. Baz lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. He leans back against the column, head tilting back. 

“Does this happen often?” Snow whispers. He’s still panting. 

Baz throws him a scathing look. If they weren’t supposed to be quiet, Snow would’ve laughed. His lips part again, and Baz clamps a hand over Snow’s mouth before he can say anything. If looks could kill, they would’ve burned a hole through each other. 

A shadow falls over them.

The two look up, eyes wide.

They see a flash of mottled orange, then the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Bailey8GM) since I am tumblr-less.  
> Also, my spring semester starts in two days, so I don't know how that'll effect my writing. I always keep a backlog of chapters, and since I'm up to chapters 11/12, I think things will be fine for a while, but who's to say since things are about to get incredibly stressful.  
> That being said, your comments and love keep me moving forward, so thanks a bunch for reading!! <3<3


	4. Yagantua; Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A run for their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say y'all, I'm just having fun writing this. I hit a bit of a block for a few days but I've worked it out and things are back to full-steam-ahead!

### \-----Baz-----

The noises of the world slowly filter in.

Then, light.

It’s too damn bright-- 

Somebody groans. It takes him a few seconds to realize it’s his own.

Baz blinks blearily, trying to get the world in focus. When it all comes into focus he jolts. 

They’re in the same room as before, surrounded by collapsed walls and caved in pieces of ceiling. Nothing has changed... except they are not alone now. Two of the mottled orange aliens are standing in front of them. They’re talking to each other, and Baz can pick out a few words here and there. Their voices are nothing like the holograms he listened to. These two seem less… well spoken. But he still manages to grab a few words here and there.

He gets _kill, surrender,_ and _westward_.

That doesn’t sound good.

The two haven’t realized he’s woken up yet. Weird, considering that he groaned when he woke… but Baz will take it. He keeps his head still as he scans the room. Fortunately he can see Snow from here. Snow’s on his left-- slumped over and tilting heavily to the right. He shifts. His arms are aching, they’re wedged uncomfortably between his back and the rock. He can only pull his arms a few centimeters apart. 

_Crowley_ , he curses internally. 

They’ve bound his arms behind his back. He hopes, like everything else on this planet, it’s metal. The conversation in front of him dies down. He looks up, watching as one of the aliens walks away. Footfalls shake the ground. The other makes some distressed noise, then sits down on a fallen over column. 

Snow stirs next to him. His head lolls back, face twitching as he comes to. His eyes open slowly, meeting Baz’s instantly. They widen, and he fearfully looks at the alien. Baz feels… guilty. He didn’t mean to almost immediately drag Snow into a situation like this. Yes, it was absolutely inevitable that him and Snow were going to run into trouble. But he was hoping that it wouldn’t be this soon.

At least Snow was with him… if he hadn’t come scrambling back into the record hall, things would have ended up far worse. 

“ _What do we do?_ ” Snow mouths.

Baz presses his lips together. He has something… but they need a distraction first. They don’t have many options on that front. He shifts again, trying to take stock of the situation. His sonic has to be here somewhere.

### \-----Simon-----

Simon just watches. Baz is shifting weirdly. Rocking back and forth, while trying to remain subtle enough to be undetected. Distantly, he wonders how oblivious these aliens are. He hopes they are very. He glances back at the alien. Their back is turned to them, stupidly. 

That’ll work... hopefully. 

Something drops to the floor. A little metallic _tink_. Simon stares at Baz, unsure of what that was. Just in time to see Baz nudge something in his direction. Whatever it is rolls over, softly stopping against his thigh. 

Whatever it is is just as confusing as the hologram machines. It’s a narrow cylinder, probably the thickness of his finger. 

He furrows his eyebrows, looking up at Baz. Baz is staring right back at him, glaring. 

“ _What?_ ” He mouths.

Baz rolls his eyes. He shifts, shaking his bound hands. The bindings look and function like handcuffs. Simon doesn’t know what he means. Baz looks over his shoulder, still glaring. 

“ _Button_ ,” Baz mouths, nodding his head in the direction of the ground. 

Simon looks back at the thing on the ground. Now that he’s looking closer, it looks like a… laser pointer? There’s a button on the side though. He wiggles, tilting to the side and stretching out his fingers to try to grab the laser pointer. His fingers brush the sides, and he scoots himself closer. 

Finally-- 

He fumbles it in his bound hands, trying to find the button without looking. He finds it, and presses the button. There’s a buzz, then the sound of a lock’s tumbler opening. Simon turns around, watching as Baz shakes off the cuffs.

_What the fuck--_

Baz pushes himself up onto his knees, taking the laser pointer from Simon. There’s another buzz, and Simon’s own cuffs fall away. His lips part, ready to ask yet another question, when Baz points at the alien.

In the confusing, silent scramble, Simon forgot that they weren’t alone. The ugly orange alien is still there, back turned. Taking what they can get, the two slowly stand up.

And they spoke too soon--

The alien whips around, teeth bared.

“Great,” Baz mutters. 

The two of them watch as the alien stands up fully. It’s easily double their height. Their comment earlier, while on the mountain, about the aliens looking like ants running through the colony is coming back to bite them in the arse.

The alien roars, and Simon is spurred into action. He whips around, and leaps over the fallen wall like he’s a gymnast. Baz doesn’t hesitate to follow.

“What do we do now?” Simon says between panting breaths. With more grace than he showed previously, he ducks between piles of debris.

“What do you think?” Baz snarls. Or at least, attempts to. He’s a bit too out of breath to put in his typical vitriol. 

They make it down the length of a city block. Then Simon’s grace runs out. He stumbles once more, and isn’t prepared for it. He hits the ground with a nasty thud. His palms scrape against the rough ground and knees hit harshly. 

A roar rips through the air.

“No- no no _no no no_ \--” He yells, looking up at the hulking mass of orange towering above him. 

_This is it,_

Simon closes his eyes, rolling onto his back and expecting death. 

The alien lets out a strangled scream. It tears through Simon’s head, echoing around and around and around

_this is the last thing I’ll ever hear_

“Get off!” Baz snaps.

Simon opens his eyes.

Above him, Baz is wielding a length of rebar, like a sword. He’s just in time to see Baz drive the rebar into the alien’s open mouth. The strangled screaming turns to gurgling as black sludge pours out of the creature’s mouth. 

Simon shouts in shock.

Baz yanks the rebar back. The bleeding increases tenfold. He drops the stained pole like it burned him. He whirls around, thrusting his hand out to Simon.

“We need to _leave_.”

Simon does not hesitate to grab on. 

### \-----Baz-----

They leave the dying alien behind. The beast collapses-- the crash vibrating the air and ground. Baz doesn’t bother giving it one more look. Snow is slower now, legs shaky from his harsh meeting with the ground.

He pulls them around a corner, and blissfully, the TARDIS is right ahead. She’s sitting in a little clearing, untouched and beautiful as usual. 

“ _What--”_ Snow murmurs.

Baz throws the door open and rushes inside. Snow closes the door and promptly collapses against it. He leans his back against it, and slides down until he’s sitting. Baz leaves him to catch his breath-- he hustles up to the control panel and throws them out and off the planet. 

He stalls them in space. 

Once they’re in the clear, he steps back. His palms are slick. He looks down at them, chest heaving. His palms are black and red; the two bloods mixing to one. The red belongs to Snow. The sight makes his chest ache.

He turns towards Snow, who is finally catching his breath. His legs are sprawled out and he’s cradling his ripped up hands to his chest. 

“What was that… laser pointer thing?” He asks, head lolling back against the door. 

Baz snorts out a laugh. Not the question he was expecting.

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now? Not shaken by your close call with death?”

“Fuck off…” Snow mutters. His hands fall, laying across his thighs. Palms are up, and they are in much worse shape. Humans are tragically fragile. “What was it?”

“Sonic screwdriver,” Baz replies flatly. 

“Jesus, that was like magic,” Snow snickers. “How does it work?”

Baz doesn’t respond right away. Snow seems to understand, lifting his head and meeting Baz’s eyes. 

“Got a first aid kit?” He asks, as if he never asked the previous question.

Baz startles from his reverie, turning towards the other door. “Just a moment.”

He steps into the hall, and slowly exhales. 

Admittedly, deciding to go into the city was a brash decision. Retrospect is a nasty thing. Obviously there would be lingering aliens. His stubborn drive put them in danger-- he wanted to look for bloody _artifacts_. 

He shakes his head, dismissing the thoughts for the time being. He opens the door. On the other side is effectively a storage closet. The shelves are filled with medical supplies. He takes a second to wipe his hands clean, then he plucks what he thinks is required, and comes back to the control room.

Snow is exactly where he was left, except he’s crossed his legs. Without a word, Baz crosses the room and crouches in front of Snow. He makes the mistake of meeting Snow’s eyes. They’re blue and glassy. Tears are gathered in the corners. He forces himself to look away, and begins to unwind a roll of bandages. 

Without saying anything, Snow takes the supplies from him. Baz’s eyebrows furrow, shocked to see the other cleaning himself up. 

_I can do it,_ sits on the tip of his tongue. He bites it back.

Snow is quick and methodical. This is not the first time he’s had to do this-- Baz picks up. Something about that makes him uneasy. 

Snow tears open a disposable alcohol wipe, hissing between clenched teeth as he wipes the blood away. Healing gel is next, then he wraps up his palms. He crinkles the trash in his palm, and shoves it into the pocket of his jacket.

 _What has happened to you?_ Baz thinks. _What has happened that made cleaning up your injuries so easy?_

“Thanks,” Snow murmurs after a few seconds.

Baz nods, standing up. “Of course.”

He offers his hand to Snow once more, but it goes ignored. Snow plants his hands on the door behind him, and pushes himself up that way. 

“I can take you home, if you would like,” Baz says, dropping his hand to his side like it never happened.

Snow looks up. He’s blinking the tears away. “No, I’m okay.”

Baz doesn’t believe that. For a second.

“I do not fault you if you want to. You almost died.”

“I’m okay, promise,” Snow insists, a tad too sharply.

Baz jerkily nods, then turns away. He steps up to the control center. Looking it over, he realizes that he left smears of blood, both Snow’s and the alien’s, on various controls. It’s starting to dry already. Snow comes up to stand next to him. 

Neither look at each other, staring down at the drying blood. 

Their silence is in the grey area between heavy and comfortable.

Maybe sharing a near death experience makes them softer around the edges.

Baz has never bothered conjuring up a kitchen. Snow has though-- and that’s where Baz finds him some time later. 

Snow’s back is to the door. He’s puttering around the kitchen, humming to himself. Baz leans up against the door jamb, scanning the room. It’s small and warm. It’s not cramped or anything-- but just the right size to house everything one could desire in a kitchen. 

Eventually, Snow realizes he’s being watched. He’s poking at something in a pan when he sees a narrow, dark blob in the corner of his eye. He turns, knuckles white as he grips a spatula. 

Their eyes meet, and his grip loosens. The pained quirk of his eyebrows fades too. His palms must be raw still.

“Oh… hey,” he exhales. 

“I didn’t know this room was in here,” Baz says. 

Snow’s head tilts a few degrees. “What?”

“This room, the kitchen,” Baz starts, “I’ve never summoned it. I did not know it was here.”

“Oh right,” Snow nods. “That… summoning shit… Are there infinite rooms then?”

“In theory, yes,” Baz nods. He steps forward, placing his palms against the cool, pale stone counter that sits in the middle of the room. “I never bothered summoning them though. I only bring forward the rooms that I use.”

Snow nods once more. He turns back towards the stove and resumes cooking. 

“Don’t you ever eat?” He asks.

Baz gives it careful consideration. Yes, he does… but he’s never cooked. 

“I pick up meals while I travel,” he carefully replies after a few seconds. 

Snow snorts. “Figures.”

“Excuse me?” Baz raises an eyebrow.

“You’re the type.” Snow throws an amused grin over his shoulder. “All posh and shit.”

Baz doesn’t say anything-- doesn’t think it warrants a response-- and just stares at the back of Snow’s head. Snow finishes up soon. He slides food onto a plate, and turns back around. Steaming eggs and bacon fill the plate. He steps up to the center counter and places the plate down. On that side, there’s stools tucked under the lip of the counter. Snow takes a seat, promptly digging in. Baz watches. Snow’s shoveling food in. Distantly, Baz wonders if all humans devour food like this. 

“You’re being creepy,” Snow says, mouth full of food. 

Baz frowns. _Disgusting_. 

“You are being disgusting,” he voices his opinion.

Snow snorts and swallows his food. “Shut it.”

He has some manners then. Baz rolls his eyes. Snow finishes eating, then stands up to head to the sink. He really doesn’t need to wash the dishes-- the ship will take care of it. But Baz decides to not say anything. The atmosphere is warm and comfortable. Some form of… domesticity. 

The word should shock him more. 

But it doesn’t. 

It settles into his lungs. Keeping him warm from within instead of choking all the life out of him. 

He should be concerned. But he’s not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I am tumblr-less, but I am on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Bailey8GM)!
> 
> I also have fun things!! A [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7F3TGISIT1pkTQPHVOoA0H) and a [pinterest](https://pin.it/62Laoia) page! Some fun music and aesthetics that fit this 'verse :) <3<3


	5. Toultera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody new comes into their adventure, just as a new one is about to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay folks! I've had a very intense streak of bad luck for the past two weeks, so I was busy handling that. Things seem to be calming down, so I was able to take a seat and edit this chapter! Enjoy :)

### \-----Simon-----

Their next venture is much more tame. Still ridiculous, by Simon’s standards. But at least they didn’t die this time around.

They land on a small moon called Toultera. It orbits a gaseous planet, but functions as an hub for nearby solar systems. Simon is baffled by the concept. 

They stand in a central marketplace, surrounded by various alien races. It’s getting easier for him to process this new reality. There are an infinite amount of species out there, intelligence far beyond humanity’s. They have figured out intergalactic travel millennia before humans have, and have lived amongst each other in peace. A few had mastered it long before humans ever _existed._

A woman passes him. She looks… humanoid. Her skin is a shimmering pink and she’s significantly taller than him. By a meter. All long limbs that sway like a thin tree in the wind. 

“So… what are we doing here?” Simon asks. 

They’re dressed normally. Baz is in his usual white button up and black slacks combo, topped by his wool cloak. Simon has changed his attire. He’s still wearing a plain shirt and denim trousers, but he’s thrown an army green bomber on top. They don’t truly blend in, but nobody bats an eye at them.

“Looking for an old friend,” Baz replies. “She’s expecting me.”

“Couldn’t you just… time travel until your meeting time?” Simon asks. 

Baz glances at Simon out of the corner of his eye. His hair is drawn up today, showing off his sharp features. A few strands fall loose, framing his face. Artfully disheveled.

“Yes, I could. But I’m not in a rush.”

Simon huffs quietly. After spending some time recovering from their shared near death experience, Baz has reverted back to his isolated, sharp self. Simon misses it. In the kitchen, things had been pleasant. Even Baz’s barbed comments weren’t all that barbed. It was… playful teasing. He wishes they could go back to that. That raw feeling, like they were finally getting somewhere. Somewhere more than just two travellers walking in the same direction.

He looks around, forcing the thoughts into the back of his mind. The marketplace is under a large canopy, lanterns of various colors hanging down from the structure that keeps the tarped roof upright. There’s stalls and store fronts absolutely everywhere, all selling various goods. Some house various alien technologies; some with produce of all shapes, sizes, and colors; some with clothing and fine jewelry… 

Simon is taking in all the sights. It reminds him of the Christmas markets from when he was a kid. A marketplace thrumming with life, it’s own little ecosystem. He wants to explore, but not only does he not have any money, but he fears he’ll get lost. They haven’t gone far from the TARDIS, but he’s still all turned around. He hopes that Baz knows where they’re going. 

“Ah!” Someone calls out behind them. “Doctor!”

Both of them turn. Briefly, Simon is startled. He forgot that Baz has given himself some weird _stage name_. 

In front of them stands a woman with a mass of brown hair. Her skin and bespectacled eyes are dark, but she’s got a large, glimmering grin on. She’s a few inches shorter than them, wrapped in flowing purple and blue fabrics.

“It’s been a bit, yeah?” She throws her arms around Baz, pulling him in for a tight hug.

Simon snickers at Baz’s panicked expression. They part soon though, and she turns towards Simon.

“It’s been a bit since he’s had someone with him,” she holds her hand out. “Penelope Bunce, but please, it’s Penny.”

Awkwardly, Simon takes her hand. She’s got a tight grip, a little too tight. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says. Blissfully, she lets go after three succinct shakes. He almost wants to massage his hand.

“Now, let’s get going,” she says, already turning away from them.

“Yes, let’s,” Baz nods. 

The two follow after her.

They come to a squat building a little bit away from the center of the marketplace. She leads them up a stairwell off to the side of the building. Upstairs is cramped-- stuffed to the brim with books, pillows, and trinkets. Vibrant, foreign plants hang in pots from the ceiling. It’s a small room, with little lights dotting the surfaces. Light from the market filters in through the large porthole window on the far wall, casting the room in a pale blue glow. 

Penny sits down on a cushion placed on the floor. She draws her legs under her, and gestures at the low, circular table in front of her. Baz and Simon join her, sitting on their respective cushions. Simon awkwardly tucks his hands in his lap, just watching as Penny and Baz begin to serve tea from the set that sits at the center of the table. The cups are fragile little things, looking like classic tea sets from England. Its white porcelain is painted with dainty blue flowers, swirling across the surface with gold laced between the petals. 

“When are we?” He blurts out. 

Baz doesn’t bother looking up. He’s carefully dropping sugar cubes into his cup.

“In Earth years, 9387 AD,” Penny replies, placing a tea cup in front of him. 

“ _Christ_ ,” Simon murmurs. “Are you human?”

Penny laughs. “Something like that.”

Simon doesn’t know what that means. His lips part, ready to fire off another question, when Baz clears his throat. 

“Shall we get started?” He asks. He is gently stirring the tea, letting the sugar dissolve before he drinks. Simon bites his bottom lip, eyes falling to his cup. It looks like any old tea-- but he wonders about the taste. It’s seven thousand years later. Would teas like earl grey or chamomile exist anymore? He bites the bullet and takes a sip. 

It’s not bad. 

He doesn’t know enough about tea to dissect the flavor, but it’s floral and light. Doesn’t know how to relate it to the teas he’s familiar with… but it’s good. Goes down easy.

“Yes, of course,” Penny nods. She leans behind her, plucking a thick, worn book from a shelf. “It took awhile to find what you were looking for.”

She sets the book on the table, and starts to flip through the pages. The pages are covered in scrawling words and sketches. She’s flipping through them too fast for Simon to tell what it says though. 

“I couldn’t track it to the specific coordinates, but the pendant is in this solar system,” she says. She must’ve found her page, because she turns the book so Baz can read. Surprisingly, it’s in English.

However, Simon has no clue what they’re talking about.

“That is still twenty planets to search, Bunce,” Baz sighs. 

“It’s as large as my eyeball and doesn’t have a tracking device on it, _forgive me_ ,” Penny sasses. There’s no true malice in her words though-- her eyes are sparkling with amusement as she takes a sip of tea.

Simon takes another sip of his own. His eyes are bouncing between Baz, Penny, and the book, like some kind of bizarre tennis match. Maybe if he pays enough attention, he’ll pick up what they’re talking about.

“Can we eliminate the lifeless planets?” Baz asks, setting his cup down in order to draw the book closer to him. 

“Pretty much. They’d have to be idiots to throw it onto one-- they’re not exactly geniuses,” she snorts. “They wouldn’t throw it into an unmarked place. They would lose it.”

“Who’s they?” Simon pipes up.

The two look over at him. A few, long seconds pass. 

“You didn’t tell him?” Penny nudges her glasses up in order to pinch the bridge of her nose.

Baz presses his lips into a flat line. “We had an... accident on Yagantua. It slipped my mind.”

“Why--” Penny starts, then she shakes her head. “That doesn’t matter.”

She turns towards Simon, clasping her hands together.

“We’re hunting down a pendant,” she starts. “It’s been stolen, by bloody _numpties_ , and hidden somewhere in the solar system. The pendant is… oh how do I put this simply…” she sighs, “it’s a… life force, of sorts. It’s been stolen and we need to be the ones to find it first.”

Simon glances over at Baz. Baz is paying them no mind-- he’s sipping tea as he flips through the book. 

“Numpties?” Simon asks. 

“They’re hideous,” Penny snorts. “They’re ugly and stupid, but managed to actually steal something of value.”

Baz comes back to the conversation. He laughs a little, passing the book back. “We can skip over the outlying planets as well. They are too brainless to go out that far.”

“Good point,” Penny shifts back to Baz easily. 

Something like guilt lands in Simon’s stomach. The two continue to talk, and he just stares down at his cup. He doesn’t understand why he was brought here. He has zero clue about what they’re talking about. Even if they explained it thoroughly to him, he has no discernible skills to help them with. He feels like a fly on the wall, witnessing the conversation but brain too small to understand anything. 

He swallows thickly. He lifts his head to look out the porthole window. People pass by, heading in all directions. He would rather be exploring than sitting here. He’s always been a visual, practical learner, so if he’s going to get used to this new reality, he’d like to be moving. 

The bustle outside mixes with the chatter from Baz and Penny. 

It turns to static in his ears. 

### \-----Baz-----

Snow has obviously checked out of the conversation. 

Baz glances over at him. Snow is as still as a statue, gazing out the window. His eyes are glassed over, unfocused. Penny notices that as well, and the two quiet for a moment.

“ _How long?”_ Penny mouths, gesturing at Snow. 

“ _Not long_ ,” Baz silently replies. Penny nods, scanning over Snow. 

She sees the same thing Baz does. A young, naïve human, feeling desperately out of his element. Penny was there once. She understands. 

“You two can rest before we leave,” she says, purposefully loud enough to pull Snow from his thoughts.

Snow blinks a few times, and looks away from the window. 

“That would be great,” Baz says. “I need to read all your notes.”

Penny stands up from the table. Snow watches her cross the room. She turns away from them and starts moving things around. 

“I’m not tired,” Snow pipes up. “So… we can leave when you’re ready.”

Baz glances over at him. Snow has drawn his legs up to his chest, arms hugging his knees to his chest. An unconscious move to make one appear smaller. Something weird washes over him. Pity? No… not pity. He knows what it’s not, but not what it is, unfortunately.

“Shouldn’t be long,” Baz replies, mentally dismissing the thought.

“I’m going to grab something to eat. I’ll bring it back, so you two can just stay up here,” Penny cuts in. She’s slung a bag over her shoulder. The two nod, and she leaves them be. Her footsteps grow quiet as she goes downstairs. Now, the only noise is the soft swish of Baz flipping through pages and Snow’s breathing. 

Baz reads through Penny’s notes. Her handwriting is nice, but she crams the pages full of words. Not all of it is important. Part of it is just reminders for her to follow leads, then writing an angry sentence along the lines of _they gave me fuck all_. Baz huffs out a laugh. Penny’s sense of humor has always gotten him. She’s just as blunt as he is, but she’s always got a smile on her face so it lands better.

His is just… colder. Not as palatable. 

### \-----Simon-----

After Penny walks away, Simon doesn’t know what to do. Baz is engrossed in his reading, and he wants to look around her little flat ( _is it that?_ ). He bites his bottom lip, wondering if she would get mad at him.

If he doesn’t touch anything, is it snooping?

He sets his tea cup on the table, and pushes himself up off the floor. She’s got things _everywhere_. The little one room flat is full of life. Her bed in the corner is covered in blankets and a book is sitting amongst the unmade sheets. The bookshelves that line every wall are absolutely stuffed. An ivy-looking plant is growing across the ceiling, deep purple leaves falling down like rain.

He wanders up to a bookshelf by the stairs. Some of the bindings are from human languages-- Spanish, Korean, English… but majority of them are in alien languages. Simon’s fascinated, brushing his fingers over the spines. 

This is different from the holograms they encountered on their last trip. Those were truly out of his element. Even though he was never big on reading, books are familiar. It’s so far in the future-- seven thousand years and some change-- but there are still books. It’s familiar. 

He smiles a little, and moves onto the next shelf. 

Penny comes back soon. 

They hear her trundle up the stairs, so both are looking up as she steps into the flat. She holds up some cartons. 

“Picked up some Laminean,” she says as she sets the cartons on the low table. One corner of Baz’s lips quirks up. Simon glances between that half-smile and the cartons. He has no clue what type of food that is. He hopes it’s good. He comes back to the table, returning to his cushion. 

Just like the tea, Penny starts serving out food and utensils. Her and Baz immediately dig in. Warily, Simon pokes at a lump of what looks like meat. 

Penny snorts through her food. She quickly swallows to properly laugh. 

“It’s close to Chinese food, honestly.”

“What?”

“Chinese food,” she points at the plate with her fork. “Think of it as lo mein.”

Simon presses his lips into a flat line. He does not understand Penny at all. Her vague ‘something like that’ answer; her books in human languages; and her knowledge of Chinese food? Is she human or not?

He huffs softly, and takes the plunge. 

### \-----Baz-----

Baz watches with amusement as Snow’s face twists up before taking a bite. 

Seconds later, the pain melts away. It forms into some form of child-like excitement. He starts to eat with enthusiasm. Across the table, Baz meets Penny’s eyes. She’s amused too, biting back laughter by continuing to eat. 

“You eat like you’re dying,” Baz comments. He’s more civilized-- eating properly sized bites, chewing completely, and even keeping a hand in front of his mouth. Snow is the exact opposite. It’s ugly, quite frankly. He saw it before in the kitchen, and he’s seeing it now. That is just how Snow eats. 

Snow throws Baz the nastiest, sharpest look he can muster. Baz smirks, stabbing a piece of meat. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he is endlessly amused, possibly enamored, by Snow. It hasn’t surfaced yet. When it does, who knows what will happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch up with me on my [twitter,](https://twitter.com/Bailey8GM) where it's a big grab bag of fandoms. I also have [pinterest page](https://pin.it/62Laoia) and a [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7F3TGISIT1pkTQPHVOoA0H) for this fic, and I'm always adding to it :) have a good day! <3<3
> 
> edit: Just so you know, minor edits and additions may be added, just as the world and story develops in my head. Nothing glaringly obvious, just small enhancing edits :)


	6. Malarnzx Solar System

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I'm trying to update every 6-8 days, but alas, college life is picking up as I sort out a new normal. Thanks for being patient, enjoy :) <3<3

### \-----Simon-----

They head off shortly after.

Penny steps into the TARDIS after Baz. She takes in the room, smiling warmly.

“Haven’t bothered changing anything, yeah?” She asks Baz as she circles the control table. 

“Why bother? She’s beautiful,” Baz replies with a smirk.

Simon is hanging back after he steps in behind her. He shuts the door, then leans up against the railing. He still has the lingering sense of a lost puppy, trailing after his owner with innocent eyes. Pulled along by a leash around his neck. It sounds harsher than it is, truly, but Simon still has the sneaking feeling of being an observer. It’s an old, familiar feeling; it settles on his shoulders like an old coat.

“Where are we starting?” Penny asks, leaning against the edge of the control table. Baz raises an eyebrow, glaring at her. She understands and steps back. 

“I would start from the inner planets, and move outwards.” Baz starts moving. With such a short trip, he doesn’t need to change much. 

The wheezing starts up after a minute, and Simon curls his fingers tightly around the railing. Each trip gets easier. It becomes like a boat rocking in the ocean. Once accustomed to the rocking, life becomes much easier. 

Penny doesn’t even need to hold on. She has her hands on her hips, chattering away. Baz is nodding along, interjecting here and there. 

Simon wonders if he could get away with just slipping further into the TARDIS. It would be easy. Penny made friendly conversation on their way back, but it was meaningless small talk. He’s been sidelined once more, unconsciously. 

It doesn’t sting though. He thinks it should, but it doesn’t.

They make their first stop. The planet is largely jungle, teeming with foreign species and vegetation. The air is thick with humidity, making Simon pant as they step out of the TARDIS. For once, he misses the dreary rain of London. There’s humidity there as well, but it’s not _blazing hot_.

“How are we going to find this thing?” He asks, turning towards the other two.

Baz is holding the door open for Penny, waiting as she gathers up her bag. After she steps out, she holds a hand up over her eyes. It is damn bright here. 

“We ask around first, see if anybody’s seen the numpties.” She says. 

“They are impossible to miss,” Baz adds with a chuckle, shutting the door behind him. He’s forgone his cloak this time due to the humidity. His sleeves are rolled up as well, and hair drawn up off the back of his neck. 

He is not the only one who had to adjust for the climate. All three have removed layers, leaving them folded neatly in the TARDIS.

“How do we… um… talk to them?” Simon asks awkwardly.

“The solar system has adopted a common language,” Penny answers. “I’m fluent.”

She smiles brightly, laughing a little. Simon is confused, like always. Baz exhales heavily, and gestures for them to start walking.

They stepped out in a cobbled stone clearing. Plants weave through the aging stones, sprouting up and threatening to tangle around their ankles. Simon glances around. It reminds him of those pictures he saw in school, the ones about ancient Latin American civilizations. Their stone temples have been taken back by the Earth, shadowing the original majesty of the empires. This planet looks similar, but the stone buildings are still lovingly taken care of. The people here have just embraced nature, allowing them to live in mutual peace.

Simon likes it. 

Despite the humidity, the air feels cleaner here. The sun is bright, filtering in through the massive trees that hang above the houses. The leaves are as large as cars-- throwing large swaths of shade down. 

Nevermind, Simon loves it. 

It’s a bloody tropical paradise. 

They wander through the green and grey city. Flora and fauna are in bloom everywhere, filling the air with sweet scents. Simon is enraptured, hardly listening to Penny asking the locals if they’ve seen anything. From what he can tell, the locals are nice. They’re willowy creatures, tall and lean and swaying with the wind. 

Baz is with Penny, listening intently. With each person they talk to, the dissatisfaction and frustration on his face deepens. They must not be getting what they came for. 

They leave soon. Far too soon for Simon.

“Can we come back?” He asks as they step back into the TARDIS. 

Baz glances at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Maybe,” he says, turning back to the controls.

Penny glances between the two, something playful dancing in her eyes. She sees something that neither see. Always the perceptive type. 

### \-----Baz-----

Planet hopping is tiring.

Even though Penny is carrying the conversations with the locals, it is still exhausting. Each planet is different-- humidity, air clarity, temperature, weather, gravity… He’s good at adjusting, but changing between the environments so quickly is tiring. He is not one for resting, but he will have to after this. 

They make it through half a dozen planets. Nobody has said that they’ve seen the numpties. They are hulking, ugly creatures with brains the size of peas. Like a reanimated pile of rock, numpties are thunderous and would be powerful if they had the intelligence to use their weight. But they are not, fortunately. 

They step onto the eighth planet and Baz’s twin hearts leap into his throat.

The planet is a wasteland. 

Razed. 

Nothing but rubble.

“What the fuck,” Penny whispers. She steps out behind him, eyes wide behind her coke bottle glasses. 

“What?” Snow asks, unfazed, from the doorway of the TARDIS.

“This isn’t supposed to be like this,” Penny answers.

Baz is at a loss for words. 

This planet was supposed to be full of life. All there is, as far as the eye can see, is burnt out husks. 

“This isn’t supposed to happen,” Penny continues. “Not for…”

The carbon charcoal remains of a tree crumble under the wind. It blows away as black dust, swirling through the air and souring Baz’s nose. 

“A thousand years,” Baz finishes. 

“I thought you said time wasn’t linear.” Snow says. His voice has softened, matching the atmosphere even if he is still confused. 

“It is not,” Baz whispers. The words are carried away by the wind. “But only few have the capability to see that fact.”

Penny lets out a shuddering breath. “What happened?”

She steps forward, the dried ground crunching beneath her feet. There is nothing left. 

Snow begins to wander off, as per usual. Normally, Baz would scoff at Snow’s bull-headed curiosity. On a previous planet, he had teased, saying that Snow’s reckless wandering would get him killed. He had neglected to mention that it was that very same wandering that saved them on Yagantua. 

He doesn’t say it now. 

He doesn’t have the mental capacity to. 

They split apart, each walking in a different direction.

It doesn’t really matter, though. There is nothing to look at, because there is nothing. Nothing but burnt rubble that dissolves under their feet and then blown away by the wind. 

Penny’s startled yelp draws them back to once place. 

They are far away from each other, but with nothing obstructing their view, it is easy for Baz and Snow to make their way over to her. She is standing as still as a statue, startled by something at her feet. 

“Everything okay?” Snow calls as he jogs up to her. 

Her eyes are wide, and she points to the ground in front of her. 

Letters are sprawled across the ground, made of some kind of sludgy brown paint. The lines bleed, the letters just a step or two above unreadable.

###  _H U M D R U M_  
  


“What does that mean?” Snow whispers. 

“Humdrum?” Penny murmurs. “I don’t know.”

Baz reads and reads and rereads and rerereads

“It sounds like a name,” Snow says. “But who… who would be named that?”

“If so, did they do this?” Penny posits. 

Baz tears his eyes away, looking at his two companions. They are still looking down at the message. Penny’s gaze is brutally intense, while Snow’s head is tilted slightly and brows furrowed. 

“Penny,” Baz says. His throat is dry. No matter how many times he swallows, the lump in there stays.

At her name, Penny meets his eye. 

“We have to pause,” he says. His hearts are running a mile a minute, but he forces himself to remain calm. Or, at the very least, keep his voice level. “I… I need to search the library.”

Penny nods, and starts to dig through her bag. “You head back, I’ll write this down.” 

Baz nods as well, and turns away.

“You’re not going to look any further?” 

Baz hears Snow ask as he walks away.

### \-----Simon-----

Simon watches Baz’s retreating back. 

“We can’t,” Penny replies gently. “We don’t know what we’re looking for.” 

He looks away, scanning the horizon. Deep in his chest, he wishes that there was something he could do. Some way he could help. Somewhere he could look.

But he doesn’t know Baz’s library. Even if he did-- he doesn’t know enough. He can’t walk when there’s nothing but a flat, barren planet. The only thing to look at is the six letters messily painted on the ground in front of them.

Penny finishes writing in her book. She gives him a forlorn look, then turns away. 

Her footsteps retreat, yet Simon stays. 

Once he can no longer hear them, he lets out a heavy sigh.

He wants to scream. It’s building in his lungs, traveling up his throat and getting caught there by his tongue. 

Nobody needs to tell him that he is an idiot. He feels like one.

After taking a few quiet, meditative minutes, he goes back to the TARDIS. He takes the door to the rest of the ship, but instead of being spit out in the hall, he’s immediately at the library. He wants to question it, but he decides against it. The TARDIS is a beautiful, beautiful ship and he knows that there are intricacies and systems he could never ever understand. Somehow, understanding that the complexities of a spaceship in the form of a blue police box will never make sense, is the easiest thing he’s dealt with since leaving London. 

_So is life._

Penny is at a table right in front of the library door. She has half a dozen books open, sprawled over every centimeter of the table. Baz is somewhere in the depths of the library, hidden behind the maze of bookshelves.

“Any luck?” Simon asks. He flops into a cushy armchair. 

Every time he is in here, the layout changes slightly. When he found Baz in here previously, it was nothing but bookshelves. Now, there’s a clearing by the door, with a handful of tables and plush armchairs. 

The TARDIS changing to fit the needs of those inside.

Maybe he should talk to Baz about the mechanics of the TARDIS, and help him that way. Logic and research has never been his strong suit. Hands-on work is much more his style. 

He lets his head roll back against the headrest. 

“Nothing yet,” Penny sighs heavily. “We’re pulling out all relevant eras…”

She trails off, distracted by whatever book is in front of her. Simon tilts his head, watching as her finger traces over lines of text. 

“This doesn’t seem to exist,” Baz says suddenly.

Simon jumps a little by Baz’s sudden appearance from the depths of the library. He’s holding a few more books. They’re as thick as his head. They are set onto the table with a heavy _thump_. 

“Whatever the Humdrum is, it hasn’t been recorded,” Baz continues. His shocked silence earlier has melted away. He seems… much more in his element now. Simon watches with a careful eye. 

They haven’t been travelling together for long. Honestly, Simon does not know how to quantify their time together. Has it been days? Weeks? _Months_? However long it has been, he’s gotten the impression that Baz is compartmentalizing. 

He recognizes the tactic. It’s a familiar one. 

“Like it appeared out of thin air.” Penny presses her lips into a flat line. 

“How do we know it didn’t?” Simon pipes up. The other two look over at him, unsure and confused on where he’s going. 

“I mean…” Simon trails off awkwardly. Their gazes are intense. “If it’s never been recorded, what if this thing was just created? Like… escaped a black hole or something.”

Penny and Baz share a look. 

Maybe he should retract his earlier statement about logic and research not being his strong suit. The two are legitimately considering his theory. 

( _Well_ , maybe he shouldn’t completely retract it. Just chalk it up to taking a (correct) shot in the dark.)

“That seems like the most likely option... Occam's razor.” Penny says softly. 

“If that is correct, then we should find the point it was created.” Baz exhales. It’s not quite a sigh. In the back of his mind, Simon thinks that Baz is too uptight to outwardly sigh.

“Well, we can’t do that now.” Penny drops her pen in frustration. She slides her glasses off to pinch at the bridge of her nose. “We could keep looking for the pendant, _and_ looking for this Humdrum thing. We won’t get anywhere for either problem if we just keep sitting here.”

Baz doesn’t react right away. 

Simon watches his face flicker through many emotions. They’re all subtle shifts-- mostly in the eyes. Simon has never watched someone that closely before. The emotions then fall away, left with a determined, yet almost blank, look.

“That is the best course of action,” Baz says.

Penny lets her reluctance play out openly. 

Neither of them want to do this. Hell, Simon doesn’t either, even if he doesn’t understand the majority of what’s happening. But it is not like they have any other options.

“Onto the next planet, then?” Baz suggests. 

“Sure,” Penny replies. She leaves the books spread out across the table. But she does shut her journal. The heavy book closes, loud like the knock of a judge’s gavel. In the same fashion, it adjourns them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, some projection of my issues onto Simon... his subconscious is rearing its ugly head again... Nonetheless, you can find me on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/Bailey8GM) I've also created a [pinterest page](https://pin.it/62Laoia) and a [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7F3TGISIT1pkTQPHVOoA0H) for this lovely fic! Have a good weekend folks <3<3


End file.
